The plane bumped, skidded and screeched to a halt and after considerable shuffling and grunting, the passengers were released. We clambered down the steps, passing the smile-pasted flight attendants and on to the tarmac, dimly lit by orange fluorescent lights. I stumbled in a zombie-like state towards immigration, slightly worried that I had not brought enough convertible currency, etc and after some more obligatory paper-shuffling, was declared sane and healthy enough to be released into the country.

I made the necessary travel arrangements and then climbed into a (real) Tata cab and amused the driver as I looked for the seat belt. “This Nepali driver, mam, no belt!” And with that, we half drove half bumped into the night.

It was utterly dark. On the inbound flight, I had finally fallen asleep,  and had only seen a few lights, certainly nothing like Hong Kong. I had imagined Kathmandu to be a bustling city both day and night – and it was. Just in the dark. There were military police everywhere carrying ancient AK-47s. The roads were narrow and in the dark, my imagination ran with all the worries my friends and family had told me about traveling here at this time. Especially with so little planning.

I have never been so relieved to see a familiar face, as our cab pulled up to what appeared to be a run-down brick wall. I hopped out and hugged Dee, the friend I was meeting up with and her Tibetan friend. we made our way through what seemed like a dozen dark alleys and finally through a metal gate into the house.

It was very different from what most people would imagine a refugee camp would look like. It was very clean, albeit on the rustic side. The facilities were basic, as you would imagine in a third world country. Except the bathroom window when propped up (as it always was, for light) led into the living room – and with it, all the implications you can imagine. There was running water and hot water, but separately – so to shower, you mix both in a bucket and douse yourself with a smaller pint-cup. Whenever possible, we conserved electricity (when it was the camp’s turn to have it on within the Nepali power grid) and as I had learned from the moment of arrival, power outages were a daily occurance. Welcome to Nepal.

I woke early the next morning and climbed to the top of the roof, overlooking the camp. In the early morning light, the sight was utterly breath taking. Tibetan prayer flags strung from every roof top, as far as the eye could see, and in the distance, the snow-capped Himalayan mountans. Already the women were out, collecting water from communal taps, dogs wandering on the open grounds, and the droning horns of the Buddhist monestary at the gate of the camp. There are only a few times in my life where I have woken up in a new place and felt such awe and completely out of anything I had ever experienced before. How utterly naieve I was, standing on that rooftop at dawn.

I bounded out with Dee and her friend eager to actually see what Nepal looked like in the light. As soon as we stepped out, we were covered in a fine film of dust that would only continue to thicken throughout the day. Nepal is a beautiful country, but life is hard here for both people and the animals.

“Tashi Dalek” Dee and I greeted the Tibetans as we walked through the camp. “Korea? Japan?” They had gotten to know Dee already as she had been there a week in advance, but as per most of the places I’ve visited, people always want to know where you’re from. “No, Hong Kong” I say. “Ah, China..” they trail off and nod. That’s weird. I’ve never gotten that kind of response before, especially as I’m a generally friendly traveller who usually beems ear-to-ear. All too soon it begins to dawn upon me how utterly blind I was in not having thought of this beforehand. I had been concerned about the demonstrations taking place in Tibet, Nepal and India, but I never thought how it would impact these people having an ethnic Chinese in their midst, while all the violence was taking place. How could I have not realized this?

A simultanous shock and shame rolled over me, but perhaps even more shocking was the astounding kindness of the people I met in spite of their initial reaction. Tibetans, like many Asian cultures, are tight-knit and hospitable. In the confines of the camp, Amdo lived side by side wth Khamba, Central, and other minority groups. Throughout my time here, beginning with the first day they showed a stunning ability to separate “China” and “Chinese girl” in their midst. In the “post 9-11 world” (as if the cosmos is suddenly different because of one country’s experience) where immigration officers can’t tell Arab from South Asian, Muslim from Sikh and Hindu and prejudice and intollerance abound, here were a people well aware of my ethnicity and quite literally in the middle of their struggle – sharing what little they had with the “enemy.” From what little I experienced on the first day, the world could use more Tibetans.

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